


for all it's worth (and more)

by Bazzys



Category: OnlyOneOf (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Cockstepping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28103535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazzys/pseuds/Bazzys
Summary: “Do not, under any circumstance,” he murmurs, his eyes hooded as he lifts his customer’s chin with one finger and leans in close, so close he can smell the whiskey on Junhyung’s breath, “become distracted.”
Relationships: Kim Junhyung | Junji/Lee Taeyeob | Yoojung
Comments: 12
Kudos: 26





	for all it's worth (and more)

**Author's Note:**

> howdy frens. it's been a hot minute.
> 
> so i've become somewhat obsessed with ooo and seeing the tag still in the lower parts of mere second digits had me writhing in agony so here! have a recycled wip that i probably won't finish in years! i hope you guys like it ♡

Junhyung attracts attention as soon as he's entering the floor. With his silken lapels and gold buttons, his appearance all but screams _money_ , loud enough to deafen out the heavy bass and make heads turn as he crosses to a private booth. Even without the clothing he’d usually stand out, being infamous in the shadier parts of businesses for his ability to pull the right strings to benefit his own gain. Barely having sat down, the owner approaches with a bottle of whiskey, the wax seal still intact, letting him know it's on the house with a deep bow.

"As are, uh, all services tonight, sir," he stammers out in polite offering.

Junhyung nods curtly and leans back, one arm slung lazily across the back of the couch and one ankle resting onto his knee in an arrogant position. 

"Bring me a pretty one, won't you?" he orders more than suggests, and he finds it entertaining how the owner bows and scurries away immediately.

He reaches for the bottle, his propped leg falling to the floor. The cork gives in with a satisfying pop as he twists it to break the seal, and he fills his glass. Exactly three ice cubes clinks as he chucks away the black little straw and downs it in one go. He refills, letting it sit and takes a deep drag from his cigar, closing his eyes and savouring the burn. A swift hand plucks it softly from between his fingers.

"No smoking during my services, _sir_ ," a voice whispers against his own lips, sweet as honey but not lacking the sting of the bee.

Junhyung smiles amusedly as he cracks his eyes open to find he's been joined by another, having crawled under the table and slithered up to eye-level between his legs, barely noticeable. He stares at his company, his eyes unwavering on his. _He's a brave one_ , he thinks, _or stupid_.

The other slides up to perch himself on the edge of the table.

"Welcome to No.13," the man says, leaning onto his arms on either side of him, and regards Junhyung from under heavy lids.

"You're pretty," Junhyung mutters in response, lips ghosting the other's jaw. "And who may you be, pretty one?"

"Yoojung," he answers, lifting a hand to run through the blond locks on his customer's head, not even flinching in the slightest when he's stopped with a firm grip to his wrist. He smirks. "But you can call me whatever you want," he whispers into his ear. His smile only grows when the grip loosens. He pulls his hand back.

“What about your name?” 

“I don’t give that to strangers,” he mumbles, leaning into the breath fanning across his neck. “Especially not strangers of your like.”

The other chuckles. “Of my like?” he inquires, voice dropping to a murmur.

“Powerful men,” Yoojung answers simply, yet the implication hangs in the air between them. He stares straight into Junhyung’s eyes before pulling back to look at him with trained seduction. “So, what can I do for you…?” he inquires, raising an eyebrow for Junhyung to finish.

“Junhyung,” he responds, tracing the bottom of the crystal glass on his knee.

One of Junhyung’s hands finds rest on Yoojung’s thigh as he sits up, sits closer, the other sets the glass aside to drag the fingertips across his collarbone to expose the skin under the straps. His fingers are warm.

“Now, Junhyung,” Yoojung says and tilts his head a little, “first we need to establish some boundaries.”

The fingers start travelling towards Yoojung’s hip, and he leans into it, only shifting his weight a little forward, and, once the curious touch barely touches the rim of his clothing, he stops the hand. Junhyung exhales, watching Yoojung sit back and cross his legs where they dangle from the edge of the table. 

“No groping,” he smirks, “that’s the rules.”

Junhyung scoffs out a chuckle and shakes his head at the finger waved at him. “And what other… _rules_ do I need to know of?” He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring up at the dancer with one brow cocked in interest.

Yoojung’s face is cast in shadow looking back down at him, yet still the tiny diamonds at the inner and outer corners of his eyes twinkle as they catch in the purple light. “No photos. No licking or kissing,” he lists. “No presentation of genitalia,” he makes a grimace, “honestly, be a decent guy, it’s not that hard.”

“Fair enough,” Junhyung agrees, “what else?”

“Do not, under any circumstance,” he murmurs, his eyes hooded as he lifts his customer’s chin with one finger and leans in close, so close he can smell the whiskey on Junhyung’s breath, “become distracted.”

Junhyung cocks his head to the side daringly, smirk playing on his lips. He grabs his glass and sits back in his original position. “Well,” he shrugs, “I am all yours.”

The dancer regards him for a moment, studying the way he tips the glass back to take a sip, eyes unyielding on his own. It’s eerily similar to the way a tiger stalks its prey, intense and powerful, anticipating the rush of a chase. Then he leans back, resting his weight onto his elbows on the table. He lifts his left leg off the right, keeping it straight as it moves in a slow arc through the air to land against the backrest on the other side of Junhyung. He keeps it there, almost like a challenge, waiting for that glance down he knows is coming. 

As if on cue, Junhyung’s eyes wander. Pushing himself to the middle of the table, he curls his legs and spins to face the pole. He gets up onto one knee, reaching forward with one hand. It grips the metal with familiarity, the arch in his back practiced, yet as natural as breathing, as he pulls himself to his feet. One leg before the other, he wanders around it, chin held high as he stares at Junhyung, noting the way his eyes are glued to his hips. Taking hold, he spins around the pole twice, lowering himself gradually with each turn. He lands on his knees, back against the pole and facing Junhyung. One arm is still raised over his head to hold onto the pole, the other hanging limp by his thigh. 

He takes a moment, sensing how Junhyung’s eyes run over him; the bangs covering his eyes, the choker, the low cut of his shirt and the shorts digging into the skin of his legs, then back to the white lace around his neck. He stays still, letting his chest rise and fall visibly, until Junhyung meets his eyes.

“Is that all?” His words are curious, but the undertone of his voice implies more of a demand: Show me more. Show me _everything._

He smiles, full lips stretching innocently across pearly whites. “At the price of nothing but company? Yes,” he admits, “some of us regular mortals have to make a living, you know.”

Junhyung nods languidly, finishes his drink. Without looking away, he reaches into his suit. Yoojung releases the pole to reach forward, sauntering on all fours like a cheetah with how his shoulder blades protrude from the sways of his spine. He leans over the gap between the table and the backrest, caging Junhyung in as he brings out a wad of cash. The dancer eyes the bundle for a moment, then moves his attention back to Junhyung’s face.

“Be a good boy and pay my electricity bill,” he purrs, head lolled to the side to expose more of his neck and a challenge burning behind his eyes.

Junhyung smirks, but does fish out a few of the big ones, carefully hooking a finger under the choker to pull the paper through. Once done, his eyes darken. His tongue darts out to wet at his bottom lip, 

“Enjoying the view?” the other grins, moving his head to show off the bills.

Junhyung hums. “Very much so,” he confesses, thumbing at the ring on his index finger impatiently. 

Yoojung’s smile widens as he sits back onto the edge of the table, legs crossed anew. He reaches for the whiskey, fills the empty glass beside it. “You’ve got a taste for expensive things?” he asks, capping the bottle.

Junhyung reaches for the glass, but it’s snapped away by a deft hand before he has the chance to grasp it. Yoojung puts the rim against his smirking lips, one eyebrow raised as he steals a mouthful. He makes sure to acknowledge the mark left by his lips, a clear print of his bottom lip painted in gloss Junhyung didn’t notice he was wearing until now. The glass is placed in Junhyung’s hand, lipgloss mark turned to him. He raises it, but is once again stopped, this time by a finger resting on the opposite side of the rim.

“I hope you like vanilla,” the dancer remarks, letting the hand fall to rest against the space between Junhyung’s chest and his stomach. 

He uncrosses his legs then and gets back up onto the table. Junhyung watches him, glass knocked all the way back until empty, thinking about the irony of how this is quite far from vanilla. He watches closely, noticing the impressive arc of Yoojung’s back as he bends forward and rolls his body away from the pole, legs spread wide both for support and for the best view. He grinds against it back up, then he bends over and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his bottoms, pushing them down to reveal his ass, hips rolling as they drop to his feet. 

Junhyung very much likes what he sees underneath it. What he thought was a shirt turns out to be a bodysuit of see-through white lace, matching the choker stuffed with money, except for the solid section between his legs, barely big enough to cover what Yoojung won’t show. He twitches, inwardly cursing his goddamn suit for feeling too tight.

Yoojung grinds down to the table in a smooth wave, letting his hips roll a second time before he dives down again, head first and ass in the air, and he slides forward, toward Junhyung with heavy eyelids. He pulls back, another bill snatched from Junhyung between his teeth, and pulls himself up using the pole. He circles once, spinning on his toes until he faces his customer, pausing to stuff the paper into the choker with the rest. Leaning back, he raises one leg straight up into the air, and despite the loud music he _hears_ Junhyung’s breathy moan. 

Junhyung’s heart is beating hard when the raised leg curls around the metal and the other comes up to squeeze from the other side. Yoojung lets go of the pole, now hanging upside down, and lowers himself gracefully, landing on his back. He braces one foot against the pole, pushing himself to roll directly backwards, giving Junhyung an undisturbed view of his ass. He slips off the wood and into Junghyung’s lap.

Junhyung doesn’t even realise how long he’s been staring at the impossible bends and stretches of the dancer in front of him. He’s lost all sense of time, swearing it stopped when Yoojung sat in front of him with his legs spread as a teasing invite, resting his head back to rest against Junhyung’s shoulder, showing off the bills decorating his collar. Junhyung’s hands are on his hips, following the movements and greedily drinking in the faint scent of vanilla on Yoojung’s neck. There’s a thin coat of sweat coating the dancer’s exposed chest, shimmering under the strobe lights. 

Mind racing with all the surfaces he’d love to pin Yoojung flat against, Junhyung doesn’t notice the fingers sneaking into his pocket as lips nip lightly at the skin below his ear. The kisses are so barely there that he feels the tingle of them ghost there for several long seconds after separation, the only trace of Yoojung even having been there is the wad of cash from his jacket missing and the curtain falling back in place. 

Days pass as if in a blur, nothing of significance happening, and it allows Junhyung’s mind to wander. He finds his thoughts to drift to the dancer more than he admits appropriate, but no matter what he occupies himself with he can’t shake those eyes from his head. They haunt him, eating away at his concentration, and he finally gives up on the report he’s looked over thrice without actually reading. 

“Bring the car out front,” he tells his driver, Jihoon, who leaves his post by the door to do as ordered. 

His visits to the dancer grows more frequent, and before long he ends up visiting three days in a row. Jihoon doesn’t voice his concerns, but they’re evident on his face despite his efforts to conceal them. Junhyung doesn’t bother trying to justify his obvious obsession with Yoojung, not when he manages to get himself out of his head. Jihoon would probably correct him and rephrase it as ‘out of his mind’ and it’s just not worth the time.

Yoojung treats him as a regular, but never more than a customer. He gives Junhyung some slack, offers that extra bit of services out of good will, but he never crosses the line between professional and personal.

It drives Junhyung mad. He knows Yoojung has him wrapped around his finger and is squeezing every last penny he can get out of him, but he doesn’t mind. He’s got enough of those anyways.

Over the course of the next week, Junhyung visits another handful of times. It starts off with the same tone of conversation as every other time he arrives, with suggestive comments and sweet touches. As usual, Yoojung doesn’t ask questions about his work, but feigns interest in everything Junhyung tells him to the point where even Junhyung struggles to differentiate between what’s genuine and not.

It’s during one of these conversations when Yoojung detaches himself from Junhyung, but he doesn’t have time to complain before he falls onto his lap, his crossed legs dangling between Junhyung’s spread ones. Junhyung winces with a hiss, Yoojung’s ass pressing straight down onto his still soft dick and squishing it in a rather unpleasant way. If Yoojung notices, he doesn’t let it on in the slightest.

“Why do you even drink this stuff, hm?” he grimaces, shuddering at the bitter burn of the liquor.

Junhyung lets his hand trail across Yoojung’s front to hold his hip on the other side. “I have a rather sophisticated taste,” he mumbles between the kisses planted onto Yoojung’s naked shoulder. 

“Sophisticated, huh?” Yoojung challenges, one eyebrow raised as he turns to look at him, “I hate to break it to you, _sir_ , but this hellhole of a strip club is far from sophisticated.” 

Yoojung smirks. He felt that twitch against his asscheek. He doesn’t comment on it. “You look stressed,” he points out instead, shifting in Junhyung’s lap to face him more straight on. 

Junhyung jolts, lips pursed tight to hold back the yelp in his throat. His dick throbs painfully, twisted under the increasingly tighter clothes. His forehead comes down to rest against Yoojung’s shoulder, but a firm tug on his chin forces his eyes back up. 

Yoojung’s smile is sweet as sugar shining down at him, contrasting the grip of his hand. Their noses almost brush, mere millimetres of hot breath separating them. The purple shadow around his eyes makes the blue lenses pop with a new intensity, and Junhyung swallows.

Yoojung cocks his head to the side, smiling wider. “What can I do for you today?” he asks, and somehow it sounds a tad more sincere despite the lack of the honorifics.

This time Yoojung sees the way Junhyung’s eyes grow just a tad wider, easily missable had it not been for their proximity. He feels that familiar movement under himself once more, the bulge pressing against him more prominently. 

“Ride my thigh.”

The words tumbling from Junhyung’s lips surprises the both of them. Junhyung’s breath hitches to a full halt when his body tenses fully. Yoojung’s eyebrows shoot up at the unexpected request, his mouth forming an ‘o’, but then he sighs through an impressed smirk.

“Well, well, well,” he starts, leaning back a bit to observe his customer, gold specks at the inner corners of his eyes glittering mischievously, “someone’s feeling blunt today, huh?”

Junhyung groans at the shift in weight allowing his dick some relief, the friction of his clothes rubbing against him akin to sandpaper. His grip on Yoojung’s hipbone lessens and peels off entirely as the dancer stands up. He releases a breath, but then Yoojung’s front is once again arched against his, his knees on either side of his right leg. 

“I need you to do something for me in return,” Yoojung mutters against his jaw, fiddling with the tie around his neck. Junhyung hums mindlessly as a thumb rubs over his nipple through the shirt. “I need you to put your hands behind your back.”

“What?” Junhyung retorts, but his protest is drowned out by a low moan as Yoojung rubs his crotch against the limb, just a slight tease to sway his mind, and a promise of more should he give in. 

“Behind your back,” Yoojung repeats calmly and nibbles on the earlobe. 

Junhyung complies, wedging his arms awkwardly behind him. He closes his eyes and focuses on the way Yoojung’s tongue moves along the shell of his ear. There’s a tug at the back of his neck, a hasty sort of pressure before it’s gone again just as quick. Hands are roaming his front, his sides, getting caught in the belt hoops of his trousers, all around to his back to tease with light fingertips, barely-there touches that might as well be a whisper into the open.

But then, a yank, and his wrists are stuck. 

At the same time, Yoojung angles his hips differently, letting his semi hard-on dig into the meat of Junhyung’s thigh, and the surprised sound threatening to spill makes him choke. Yoojung grinds against him again and Junhyung shudders on a moan.

“Good boy,” he breathes against Junhyung’s ear, the warm puff of air making his hair stand on end where it fans across the skin. 

Junhyung’s heart palpitates at the praise. He feels another pathetic moan bubble up his throat, and he swallows, willing it away. It’s growing increasingly harder to stay still, to keep silent, especially when nimble fingers work the first three buttons of his shirt open, enough to expose the clavicle underneath. A hand tangles into his hair and frees it, and even if he wanted to he can’t stop it from messing up the locks. 

Yoojung pulls at it, forcing his head back to expose the neck. The gentle caress of Yoojung’s mouth completely contradicts the rough hold on his hair, and it clouds Junhyung’s mind, wiping away anything and everything that isn’t ‘here and now’.

“You’re so good to me, Jun,” Yoojung pants against his adam’s apple, the pet name turning his resolution to mush. Yoojung’s dick drags against his leg harder, a longer thrust than the previous ones; a languid stroke that has Yoojung crumbling into him with a groan.

Junhyung whimpers and moans and writhes under Yoojung, the vibrations of it feeding that simmering pit in his lower abdomen. Yoojung’s mind is swimming, drunk on the sight of this supposedly dangerous man looking so fragile, so _helpless_ , tied up and unable to do anything but beg for what he wants, for what he needs. 

Yoojung has always leaned more toward the receiving end, wanting to fulfill his customers', and past partners' wishes, any way he could. If anything, he’s been a service top on occasion, but always on request. He’s tried to dom a few times, but it just didn’t come quite as naturally as he would like it to, and it left him with a rather sour aftertaste. Usually his looks and delicate build have been the deciding factor, his company wanting to have _him_ wrapped around _them_ ; he never imagined he’d see a man with this much power willingly give it up for submission. 

But he’s not complaining, and it’s surprising to him, this new sensation of being in control. Having Junhyung at his mercy tastes sweeter than anything he’s tried, and he’s happy to savour any drop he can get.

“Please,” Junhyung mutters, not knowing what exactly he’s asking for.

Yoojung gives it to him anyways. His right knee lifts from the cushion and lands straight onto Junhyung’s crotch, crushing down at his erection. Junhyung’s entire body jerks, a strangled sob breaking past his lips, and had it not been for the way his hips kept stuttering into his pressure, Yoojung would have stopped. 

Junhyung is biting his bottom lip, eyes screwed shut as he bucks up against his knee. His hips push and pull on their own accord, fuelled on pain and pleasure alike. His breathing is shallow, the coloured lights reflecting in the thin sheen of sweat covering his neck. Thighs aching from the strain, they start to shake as he chases that familiar heat that’s building in his belly. 

Yoojung keeps his own steady pace, observing intently how Junhyung’s features move under the skin. He notices the smallest details of emotions passing through him, each sting of pain, every ripple of pleasure. Junhyung’s slowly unravelling right in front of his eyes, the seams holding him together tearing with every silent plea. The sharp-trimmed edges defining him as the cruel puppet master pulling at strings, are fraying away, and Yoojung is unable to look away.

As much as he loves seeing Junhyung in this state, he hungers for something more. His greed, in the form of a devil on his shoulder, whispers sweet promises into his ear, tempting him to go further, to risk taking that extra step. It convinces him effortlessly, the want flooding his mind and shutting out all rationality left in him, compels his body to lean forward, putting more weight onto Junhyung’s cock, and to whisper into his ear.

“Come for me, baby.”

Junhyung does. Yoojung removes his knee, and Junhyung’s pretty sure he almost faints, his vision going pitch black and his mind spinning. His entire body jolts with the shock, and had he been aware enough to remember his own name he might’ve been embarrassed about how he most likely would’ve screamed had it not been for Yoojung’s hand covering his mouth to keep their secret of bending the rules contained. 

Head tipped back, air fills his lungs in deep breaths. Mind numb, the afterwaves of the orgasm ripple through his limbs and leaves his skin tingling in content. Relaxation lowers his shoulders to a level of comfort he hasn't felt in weeks, perhaps even months, and he can’t help the drowsiness that sweeps over him. 

Yoojung doesn’t move from his spot. His breathing is fast even though he didn’t do much physical work, but he knows it’s caused by something else. He’s stunned to say the least, the images of Junhyung’s face tensing in front of him going straight to his untouched dick, and it twitches against Junhyung’s thigh. 

That seems to break Junhyung from his trance. With an effortless tug to the tie around his wrists, his hands come free, and Yoojung decides the session is over. Something happened, he doesn’t know what changed, but he’s not about to stick around to find out. His mind is reeling with all sorts of thoughts, and he won’t allow himself to dwell on the meaning of anything, refusing to convince himself that any of it has a meaning at all.

Deft like a feline, he manages to slip out of Junghyun’s hold before he can protest or ask any questions. He waves with a smile, and disappears through the curtain with a sly wink and a sweet ‘welcome back’ thrown over his shoulder. It isn’t until Junhyung is halfway back home that he realises Yoojung never took his money.

Junhyung doesn’t go back. He’s busy, planning every possible outcome of a high risk double project, being stuck in meetings with partners, briefings with the logistics team and sponsor visits, as well as distributing roles and responsibilities to the other departments while at the same time keeping it low profile and making sure that no sensitive information leaks into the wrong hands from well before sunrise and coming home long after the sun sets only to collapse onto his bed. He doesn’t have time. 

He’s thankful for the workload, though; it gives him reason to avoid No.13. The last visit has left him conflicted about the dancer’s intentions, as well as his own, and there’s something about the ordeal that just doesn’t sit well with him. Junhyung didn’t have control over the situation, much less himself, and that bugs him. 

Or rather, what _really_ is the source of discomfort is just that. There was nothing uncomfortable about it. It felt natural to let Yoojung pull the strings. 

Junhyung is aware that he’ll have to face the dancer sometime again. Not because he’s obligated to do so, he answers to no one but himself, but it feels like the right thing to do. He owes Yoojung that much at least, and whether he wants it or not, they’re acquainted now. He might be a criminal, but he at least likes to think he’s not a bad guy. 

It’s unusually quiet one Wednesday night when Junhyung enters. As if expected even after all these weeks staying away, the owner shows him to the vacant VIP booth in the back, a brand new bottle of whiskey already waiting for him. He sits onto the loveseat without a word, the owner offering a deep bow of courtesy before scattering. Junhyung fills his glass and empties it instantly, preparing for whatever conversation is about to take place, whichever outcome it may lead to. He just wants to get it off his mind.

“I wondered when you’d be back,” a honey voice murmurs into Junhyung’s ear, hands trailing over his shoulders and down his torso from behind halting his pouring, “I was starting to worry you forgot about me.”

There’s lips trailing down his neck, and a humoured scoff escapes him at the pouty voice. He rolls his head to the side. “How could I?”

It’s strangely comforting to be back, something he didn’t expect after the abrupt ending last time. There is unmistakably a tension in the booth, but not one of awkwardness or uncertainty, but rather a sense of relief that Junhyung can’t quite put his finger on. All he knows is that when Yoojung circles the back of the seats to hop onto the table between his legs, his mind is instantly eased.

“What can I do for you today, sir?” Yoojung smiles, the mischief glinting in his eyes as always.

Junhyung returns the smile without saying anything, and for a heartbeat they just take in the sight of each other. Yoojung doesn’t hesitate to slip into Junhyung’s lap when he pats it, Yoojung’s hands sneaking their way inside his suit to hold onto his sides. He stares at Yoojung shamelessly. 

“I wanna look at you.”

Yoojung doesn’t mean to take that deep of a breath. Junhyung doesn’t mean it like that, of course he wouldn’t, but between the heavy bass and the pounding of his own heart, Yoojung can’t help but wonder. He slumps forward into the crook of Junhyung’s neck, either to hide his flustered cheeks or be closer. Junhyung wraps his arms around Yoojung’s back, pulling him into his chest gently. Yoojung complies without resistance, listening to the soothing sound of Junhyung’s heart beating calmly against his ribcage. It’s ironic, really, and kind of twisted, how Junhyung of all people makes him feel safe.

It feels intimate, the way they’re hugging yet not quite, just huddled in silence and taking in each other’s presences. Yoojung isn’t sure if it’s just his mind playing tricks on him or not, so he hesitates to move out of fear that he’s reading the situation wrong. Neither of them mentions last time, or anything else for that matter, and soon the calm that has set over them becomes too confusing, too real for Yoojung to be able to play his role, and he makes a choice to change it.

Slowly, he nudges his nose against Junghyung’s neck, testing the waters carefully. His heart is beating all up in his throat just from this, tip-toeing around asking unvoiced questions, but his anxiousness is brief when Junhyung tilts his head to the opposite side in response. He exhales unsteadily, noses further along his neck. Yoojung’s blood boils, and he doesn’t understand why he’s so nervous when he plants a light kiss on the skin. It drives him crazy, to feel so out of his element when he’s done this for the better part of his adult life, but he keeps going, kiss by kiss, each of them a little braver than the last.

He trails them everywhere, suddenly hyper aware of every twitch of Junhyung’s fingers and every breath he takes. Junhyung slides down, a few inches at most, but it puts them at a new angle, one where Yoojung can easily feel Junhyung’s cock press against him. It startles him, his teeth accidentally scraping the skin. Junhyung moans, the sound neither intentional nor unfortunate as he bucks up against Yoojung. 

The rush of blood to Yoojung’s already hard dick at the contact is only amplified when he instinctively tries to chase the friction. He fists the shirt at Junhyung’s sides and rolls his hips again and again, this time deliberately and calculated, and before he knows it a whimper escapes his lips. It’s quiet, easily drowned out by the volume of the music, but it’s quickly followed by another when Junhyung meets his movements.

This has never happened before. 

Of course there’s been grinding, that _is_ what Junhyung’s been buying after all, but not once during all of those visits has Yoojung been the one to crumble this way.

Yoojung’s never been the one to work for anything other than money.

It all feels overwhelming, the flicker of the spark between them, how they move so in sync and how connected they are despite not seeing each other for weeks. Junhyung doesn’t know what to make of it as their desperation only grows, but he certainly doesn’t want it to stop anytime soon.

Yoojung grabs onto his shoulder to straighten himself. Their eyes connect, lust and desire clashing together behind heavy eyelids and blurring the line between _want_ and _need_ , and a mere breath later Junhyung gets a real taste of the vanilla gloss as their mouths collide. The mix of vanilla and whiskey shouldn’t work together, but there’s something about it that makes him thirst for more, and before he has the chance himself, the dancer pushes his tongue past his lips. 

It’s so unexpectedly messy, so incredibly uncoordinated, that for a second Junhyung is taken aback by the intensity of it and forgets to return the kiss. His brain catches up and he realises what’s actually happening, and just like that their positions are reversed. Yoojung clings to his shoulders like he’s afraid to let go, which Junhyung finds an absolutely endearing contrast from what he’s used to. He feels like he’s getting in on a secret, a side that Yoojung doesn’t show other customers, and the thought is jarring in so many ways. 

“Yoojung,” he says into his mouth to get his attention.

“Taeyeob.” 

Junhyung pulls away. “What?” 

Yoojung stares at him for a second. His chest is heaving, lips plumb and even softer looking than ever, and it causes Junhyung to forget momentarily about his confusion.

“My name,” he says, “it’s Taeyeob.”

Junhyung opens his mouth and promptly closes it again. He rummages his brain for words, any words at all, grasping the first and best ones he can find. “I thought you didn’t tell strangers that.”

Yoojung–Taeyeob–huffs out a laugh, the most genuine Junhyung’s ever heard and he instantly files it under his favourite sounds, and gently lifts a hand to hold his cheek.

“I’d say we’re past strangers at this point, don’t you think?” he says, and with a single movement of his eyes manages to gesture to whatever they’re doing now.

Junhyung needs a moment to process the words, but eventually he chuckles as well. He lets his forehead rest against Taeyeob’s. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I was actually gonna ask if this is something you want,” he says, and quickly adds, “to go further, I mean.”

In the blink of an eye the mischief is back stronger than ever in Taeyeob’s eyes. “Ohh, the big bad guy is being considerate?” he teases, giggling at the warning look from Junhyung who can’t keep it up for long when Taeyeob giggles like that. “I’m joking, let’s get the hell out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> that's it folks! if you enjoyed it, kudos are always warmly appreciated, and comments as well if you have any ♡
> 
> hit me up on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BazzysAO3?s=09)


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